


Fatherly Love

by Delay_no_more



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humiliation, In-character crack, M/M, Power Play, Tyrion POV, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, crackfic, infantilization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-04 14:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10281116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delay_no_more/pseuds/Delay_no_more
Summary: All his life, Tyrion has craved his father's attention. After the Battle of the Blackwater, he suddenly finds himself getting more of it than he bargained for: fed up with his son's antics, Lord Tywin has decided that if Tyrion keeps acting like an irresponsible child, he will be treated like one. That means no more wine, no more women, and a father who never lets him out of sight. But Tyrion Lannister is not one to back down meekly. His father may have started this war, but he will finish it! Or so he likes to tell himself...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Java1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Java1/gifts).



> Everything belongs to GRRM.

 

_Lord Tywin Lannister was seated beneath the window, writing by the glow of an oil lamp. He raised his eyes at the sound of the latch._

“ _Tyrion.” Calmly, he laid his quill aside._

“ _I'm pleased you remember me, my lord.” Tyrion [...] leaned his weight on the stick, and waddled closer._ Something is wrong _, he knew at once._

\---ASOS, Tyrion I

 

Tyrion seated himself opposite his father. Lord Tywin studied him with cold, green eyes, his face motionless. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“I'm almost healed,” Tyrion responded. “And I am sick of my chamber. Would you believe it, while I was dying, someone moved me to a dark little cell in Maegor's?*”

“You're dissatisfied with that arrangement.” There was disapproval in his father's voice.

 _Ah, yes, how dare I,_ Tyrion thought. _Spiteful little creature that I am. How_ dare _I question_ your _choices, father?_ “You could say so, my lord,” he responded.

“You will be pleased to hear then that I have arranged for you to move back to the Tower of the Hand,” Lord Tywin said, steepling his fingers under his chin.

That took Tyrion by surprise. He eyed his father suspiciously, trying to read the expression on his face. Was it anger? Pleasure? “You'll be off to meet the Young Wolf in the field again, I assume?” He asked cautiously. _Something isn't right at all, but what?_

“There are better ways to fight Robb Stark than in the field. No, I will remain in King's Landing and put an end to this mummer's farce the royal court has become.”

“I hope you don't expect me to share a bed with you then, father,” Tyrion said. “Last time I checked there was only one bedchamber in the Tower of the Hand.”

“No need. There's a small storeroom next to my own chamber that I had fitted with a bed for you. Granted, there won't be room for much else, but it will allow me to keep a close eye on you. You're not to leave my sight while I'm in the capital.”

Tyrion's jaw dropped. For once, he found himself at a loss for words. “You... you've got to be jesting, my lord,” he finally stammered.

“Do I look like a man who likes to jest to you?” His father's eyes were fixed on him, piercing him with his merciless gaze.

“No,” Tyrion was forced to admit. “What is the meaning of this, father? Surely the Hand of the King has more pressing matters to attend than to watch his dwarf son drink and whore.”

Lord Tywin's mouth grew taut. “There will be no more of that,” he said, rising from his chair. “All my life I've been forced to watch you behave like some spoiled child, spending my coin while making a mock of House Lannister with your antics. I forbade you to take that whore to court, yet not only did you disobey me, you turned the Red Keep into a whorehouse and a tavern, if your sister can be believed. _Everything_ is a jest to you. Pray tell me, did you ride into battle in motley instead of armor? That certainly would explain why you were so badly cut.”

Tyrion could feel his face burn with anger. _I saved this city_ , he thought. _If it hadn't been for me, we would all be dead_.

He set out to respond, but Lord Tywin cut him off. “Your size may give you the semblance of a child, so perhaps that is why everyone expects you to act like one, but it is past time you learned to make responsible choices and behave like an adult. I will see to that, if it is the last thing that I do.”

 _Has he taken leave of his wits_? Tyrion mused. “You've never been much of a father to me, it is true,” he said. “And I feel touched that you seem to have realized your errors and wish to make up for them. But this is folly, my lord.” He took a deep breath. “I'll leave you to your business now. I'll be back on the morrow to see if you have regained your senses.” He got up and started waddling towards the door. His heart was pounding, overcome by an odd mix of fear and excitement over what he had just said.

“If you leave this room, the guards will drag you back in here, kicking and screaming if they must. Those are the instructions I have given them.” Tyrion turned around slowly. For a brief moment, Lord Tywin looked unnervingly pleased with himself, his gold-flecked eyes sparkling with triumph.

 _Don't smile, father_ , Tyrion thought. _It makes you look terrifying_. He sighed. “So what am I to do while you write your letters?” He asked, pointing at the quill and parchment sitting on his father's desk. “Shall I do somersaults or walk on my hands for your entertainment? Perhaps sing you a song?”

“You will do no such thing,” his father said coolly. “You will wash yourself up and see yourself off to bed. It is long past your bedtime.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sentence marked with an *astérisque is a direct quote from ASOS.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyrion tossed and turned. The bed was much harder than what he was used to, and deprived of wine, he found himself unable to fall asleep. He could hear the birds sing before he finally dozed off, only to be rudely shaken awake what seemed only moments later.

For half a heartbeat, he thought his father was standing over him, but it was only a guard. “Time to wake up, little lord.” The man rasped, a wide grin on his face.

 _Even_ he _is mocking me._ Tyrion knew exactly who he had to thank for that. But he'd been through worse, he told himself as he stumbled out of bed. For a brief moment he considered dressing properly, but he was too tired to bother. The guard watched on as he fastened his bed robe around his waist and put on a pair of brown leather boots.

His father sat in his solar, dressed and shaved, breaking his fast on bread with honeyed sausage and soft boiled eggs, sipping watered wine from his cup. He raised his eyes as Tyrion entered. “You're up.”

“Yes, father, your guard saw to that.” He gave a hearty yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth. “A rather rude man. It would seem I'm not the only one you've failed to teach manners.”

He sat down opposite his father, instinctively reaching for the wine, but it seemed Lord Tywin had waited for just that moment. He covered the flagon with his hand. “No more wine I said. Have this instead.” He poured a cup of lemonwater and handed it to his son.

For a moment, Tyrion felt tempted to throw the water in his face. _The lemon should sting nicely in your eyes, my lord_. But instead, he shrugged, gulped the water down, and grabbed for the sausage and the eggs, piling them onto his plate.

Lord Tywin's lips were little more than a thin line, his face growing grimmer and grimmer as he watched his son slouched over the table, gobbling down his food.

 _Oh, you chose this, my lord_ , Tyrion thought. _Now you'll have to suffer me._ “Delicious!” He proclaimed, wiping the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand, making sure to add a loud belch for good measure. “I could take a nap now.”

His father ignored that. “I have a gift for you.” He said instead, rising from his chair.

 _And no doubt that gift is poisoned_ , Tyrion thought. But he pushed himself up and followed Lord Tywin back into his bedchamber.

There, neatly laid out on the made bed, was a set of clothes. The pants were sewn of cloth-of-gold. The doublet was made of fine red silk with golden lace sewn to the cuffs and collar, but the tight sleeves puffed up at the shoulders made it look like a page's garb. _No doubt that's the point of it_ , Tyrion thought sourly.

“I had these sewn for you,” Lord Tywin explained. “They should fit, but if not, we can have them altered.”

 _He's been planning this for a while_ , Tyrion realized. “Why, thank you, father, you're so generous.”

His father ignored the jibe. “See that you get dressed and meet me outside.”

The clothes fit perfectly. Tyrion did not bother to take a look in the mirror; he knew full well what he would see. _A dwarf dressed in boy's clothes. Well, you've treated me like a child all my life, father_ , he thought. _I suppose this is the honest way to do it_.

He sighed. _He'll grow tired of it_ , he tried to reassure himself. But Tyrion knew if there was one thing his father did not lack it was determination to see a deed finished.

He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath and went back to the solar.

“My lord.” Tyrion made a mocking half-bow. “How do I look? Am I a _pretty_ little Imp? Are you _proud_ of me?” He spun around.

“Enough. You're a Lannister, and you will behave yourself like one.”

 _And won't the world be better off for it_ , Tyrion thought. If acting like a Lannister meant acting like his father, somehow, he did not think so. _I've taken too many lessons from you already, my lord_.

“You won't leave my side,” his father reminded him. “And you will not speak unless I have given you permission.”

 _He truly means it_ , Tyrion realized. _He's going to drag me along with him all day. Next thing, he'll make me hold his hand_. But he'd escaped the sky cells, talked his way out of a gruesome death at the hands of the Stone Crows and survived two battles meant to kill him. He would figure out a way to get out of this.

And suddenly, as he followed Lord Tywin down the stairs, he knew exactly what he would do. _Let's see who will tire of this first, father_.


	3. Chapter 3

“Stay three steps behind me at all times.” Lord Tywin ordered as they descended the turnpike stairs.

His father was walking fast, taking the stairs in long strides, and Tyrion had trouble keeping up. “Dwarf steps or ordinary steps, my lord?” He asked mockingly. “You may not have noticed, but it makes quite a difference.”

Lord Tywin did not bother to slow down or turn around. “I did not give you leave to speak.” He said icily. “And you would do well not to test my patience.”

The Lannister household guards in their long crimson cloaks and lion-crested helmets manning the entrance to the Tower of the Hand had the decorum not to laugh, but even they could not help but stare at the odd procession of father and son. _Oh joy_ , Tyrion thought.

By the time they reached the drawbridge to Maegor's Holdfast, his legs were cramping and his face was red. He could feel all eyes on him as he scampered into the Small Council Chamber behind his father. _Yes, my lords, a hideous dwarf with half a nose, dressed like a child and panting like a dog. Oh father, perhaps you should put me on a leash and have me dance for their amusement like a tame bear._

Lord Tywin ignored the attention his son received, greeting the council members one after the other before seating himself at the head of the table. Tyrion sat down to his left, but his father shook his head, so he toddled off to the end of the table as the other men took their seats.

 _I barely know half the people in the room_ , he realized. Pycelle, Varys, and Littlefinger were present, and he recognized Mace Tyrell and the Lords Redwyne and Rowan. The rest he could not place. _All our new friends and allies, greedy for their royal rewards_. The king himself was notably absent, and for that, Tyrion was glad. Things were bad enough as they were without having to suffer Joffrey's gloating.

“What news of the war, Varys?” Lord Tywin opened the meeting unceremoniously.

“Alas, it would seem the Young Wolf remains undefeated in the field,” Varys began. “But I do have some good tidings.”

Tyrion slouched down on his chair until his face was at the same level with the table as the eunuch recounted how Randyll Tarly had chased Robett Glover back to Harrenhal. _Now or never_. “I'm _bored_ , father.” He said loudly. “When are we done so I can go play?”

“What else, Varys?” Lord Tywin asked curtly, ignoring his son, but Tyrion could tell he was piqued.

 _Twisting the lion's tail_. It was a dangerous game, but he could see the appeal. _If you dress me like a child and treat me like one, that's what you will get_ , he thought with a smile.

“The Dornish are riding for King's Landing,” Varys continued his report. “Word has it they seek vengeance for the murder of Princess Elia.”

“I've promised them justice for the death of the princess and her children.” Lord Tywin said without so much as batting an eye. “Robert refused them, but with King Joffrey on the throne, they shall have it at last.”

"King Joffrey is too gracious and kind!" Lord Paxter Redwyne exclaimed.

Tyrion sat up in his chair. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. “But father, wasn't it _you_ who ordered the death of Elia and her children?” He blurted out before leaning back and smiling innocently. _Out of the mouth of babes, my lord._

The silence that followed made even Tyrion uncomfortable.

“How dare you suggest such a thing?” Ser Kevan finally said with genuine indignation.

Lord Tywin himself sat motionless, his fingers laced under his chin. “My son is still feverish from his injuries,” he said. “Kevan, take him back to my chambers and have a maester take a look at his wounds. See that he remains until I'm back.”

“At once, my lord.” Ser Kevan bowed.

“Why did you say that?” He asked as soon as they had left the room. “That was ill-advised. Your lord father does not take kindly to being mocked, much less in front of the Small Council.”

“Why, I suppose I did not realize speaking truth is considered mockery these days.”

His uncle sighed. “Whatever is going on between you and your father, you would do well to make peace with him and not provoke him further.”

 _Father will never make peace with me_ , Tyrion wanted to tell him. _He's been at war with me since the day I was born_. But he knew it would do him no good to complain; Ser Kevan was his brother's most loyal supporter.

“Make sure he does not leave the Tower,” his uncle told the guards after he had delivered him into their custody.

Lord Tywin did not return until long after the sun had set. “I told you not to speak without my leave.” His voice was calm, but the look in his eyes gave Tyrion a chill.

“I forgot, father,” he shrugged an apology. “Small children can be so _frightfully_ forgetful. Will you forgive me?”

His father ignored the jape. “Since you are having difficulty understanding simple commands, I suppose we will have to practice.” He waved his hand at him. “Go stand in the corner. Do not move until I tell you to.”

Tyrion could feel his face turn red. _You truly have lost your mind, my lord_ , he thought. _This is madness_. But then he took a deep breath. “Oh, very well, father,” he said as he waddled towards the corner to face the wall. “Since you are asking so nicely.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Council meeting is roughly based on ASOS, Tyrion III


End file.
